First day's are the hardest
by Lingering K
Summary: School starts in District 11. Kaelaunie gets more than a stomach full of butterflies today.


"Babylove." whispers a soft, lovely voice.

"Babylove, oh Babylove"

I peer out through the tiny slits I've allowed my eyes to open and saw her face. My mother has come to wake me up for school. I shut my eyes quickly trying to pretend that I'm sleeping still, but she's aware of how awake I am.

"Solider Babylove, wake up."

She always calls me solider, which is okay I guess, it makes me feel official.

I roll over on my small bed onto the floor. It's a hot day as usual and my hair is sticking to my forehead. Resisting any thoughts of having to start school today, I wipe the damp stands from my face. I sit over slumped and give a large sigh. We both know I want to say it, say how much I loathe this day every year, say how I don't want to go.

"Come along." my mother smirked, "I've already got your outfit ready."

"Lovely." I muttered.

"Don't seem so down, darling. The first day is always hard to start. At least it's not your first year."

She's right. Ninth grade year went by so fast I'd barely remember much about it. Still resisting, I slug across our tiny shack. Oh I love having a mother like I do sometimes. A plain yellow colored dress is laid out on the kitchen table along with white shoes and a heap of long flowers and vines. My eyes dart to my mother, and back to the table. The dress wasn't mine, nor hers.

"Where'd you get the dress?" I asked shocked at the pretty thing I was subject to wear.

"Your father sent it." She smiled back.

_My father. It's been what, twelve, thirteen years since I've seen him?_

"Wow, it's so.. nice." I murmured.

"Pretty, isn't it?" She gave a sigh. "If only he were here to see how beautiful you're going to look in it."

I always feel awkward when my mom talks like that. When she calls me beautiful, when she misses my father, her tone the same for both.

"Yeah, if only." I reply grasping her shoulder with one of my hands.

We miss him, we both do. But I know that there love with not go without reason. There love was something special, with sparks of rebellion and purity built deep into them.

On the inside tag I saw his name etched in gold thread.

_**Cinna.**_

I don't really want to think about this to much, because this always happens. He'll send something, she'll miss him, and we end up losing track of time.

I interrupt out silence with a cough "Well I'm going to go bathe now, don't wanna go to school smelling like sun and must do I?"

She's still so reserved. "I drew your bath already, it's ready when you are." she whispers into the space between her and the dress. It feels like it wasn't directed to me, but to him. Almost like she's saying _"I'll be ready when you come back, my love." _My mother is so sweet and kind with her words, all of them embed themselves into my soul, making me more like her. I love being like her, her loving words becoming mine, her fondness of beauty. My mother is me. An older me. A much wiser, prettier, impulse driven me. I can't help but admire her as I walk to my bath.

I dry myself and dress into my new undergarments. I guess upon sending the dress, my father has sent me something much more useful. A new bra, and a weeks worth or new panties. My mother must have told me how I hit puberty and have begun filling out my curves. I don't like the new curves, and the bra doesn't make it better. I'm too... womanly for my liking. The padding in the bra makes me look 17, despite my height. I look disgustingly at my body and decide to cover it with my new dress. Yellow and soft. I like this dress a lot. A lot, a lot actually. It skims just past my knees and I slip on my white shoes. I smile a little, taking back all of the mean things I had said before about my body. My mother enters the room and starts brushing my hair.

"My, my Babylove, how you've grown." my mother starts. I just chuckle and concentrate on her hands for now.

At first it's low, but her hum grows louder and louder. I shudder at her voice, her beautiful enchanting voice and begin to imagine. Flowers are intertwined with my hair and I feel like the beautiful girl my mother has always told me I was. The transformation was almost complete.

"Haha," my mother laughs "I'm finished." She props her head on my shoulder and looks into the mirror with me. I'm not pretty, but I am beautiful today. And for the first time, I feel it..


End file.
